


It Only Hurts When I Breathe

by Grayson1996



Series: Dick & Dami Week 2021 [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Temporary Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29952420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grayson1996/pseuds/Grayson1996
Summary: Grief is a strange thing. No matter how often you experience it it's always a surprise when it sets in. Like you've forgotten how much it can hurt. Forgotten how awful it is to miss someone. This story includes three moments of grief. One felt by Dick, the other by Damian, and the third with them together over coming it. DickandDamiWeek2021: Chapter one prompt: "You're Shaking", Chapter two prompt: "Please don't leave me", Chapter three prompt: "Baba".
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Series: Dick & Dami Week 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2199732
Comments: 14
Kudos: 125
Collections: DickAndDamiWeek2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dick and Dami Week day three! This story is going to have three chapters that coincides with prompts from this week!

**Prompt:**

~~Trust~~ \- ~~Adoption Papers~~ \- You’re shaking

Dick Grayson was not allowed to break. Wasn’t afforded that luxury.

Not when his brothers depended on him. Not when he was expected to be their rock, the one holding it all together. If he broke then who would fix the others? Piece by piece, the parts coming together under his guidance. 

His family was a house, and each betrayal, each deterrent, each _hurt_ battered the building. Peeling the paint, eroding the boards, and breaking the windows. Bruce was the home’s foundation, he was the base, the thing the rest of them grew from. Alfred kept the home clean, swept the floors littered with broken glass and leaves that had blown in from the outside. But Dick was the handyman, he replaced the window panes and light bulbs. He walked around, hammer in hand, and if the wood began to splinter and crack he would restore it.

If there was no handyman then the house would fall. No matter how nicely it was kept or how strong the foundation.

And so he remained strong.

He remained strong after Heretic killed Damian on Talia’s orders. The sword cutting through the boy without remorse and in slow motion as Dick desperately tried to get to him. Reaching Damian just in time to stop the body from hitting the floor. 

_I’ve got you, you’re going to be okay, I got you. We can fix this._

He remained strong when his brothers broke when he carried the body into the Batcave. Jason screaming and shouting in agony. Timothy falling into his embrace with a cry, the animosity between him and Damian disappearing in an instant.

_See Dami, I knew he liked you._

He remained strong when Bruce remained blank. Face shut off and void of everything, _anything_ that showed he cared. That showed he _grieved_. When Bruce left the cave to go on patrol instead of staying with his children the night it happened Dick remained strong. He did not shout, he did not cry.

_Because his family was hurt, and no one else was going to comfort them._

The wake, the funeral, the endless condolences, the firm hands on the back of his shoulder, the whispered reassurances? Through all of it he played his part. He smiled, he nodded, he thanked them all for coming. Even though in the back of his mind he remembered every harsh word and criticism they had said about the boy.

_How can you trust him? He’s not normal, he’s a demon spawn, he’ll never learn. He’s not worth the effort._

He played his part though, he didn’t air his grievances because no one wanted to see Dick Grayson break even if it was warranted. 

Which is why after the funeral he excused himself, as gently and as quietly as he could. Slipping out from the Manor with only Barbara’s eyes following him. She understood him, she always had, and when she distracted Alfred so he could slip past without him noticing he felt deep gratitude for the woman.

The drive back to the penthouse was silent. He didn’t turn on any music, didn’t talk to himself, he stared out the dashboard blankly. Depending on muscle memory to deliver him safely home. The tie wrapped around his throat felt like a weight and so he hooked a finger under the knot and loosened it a bit. Agitated when the weight did not dissipate. When he arrived at the building he plastered on a blinding grin for the doorman Tom. 

Damian Wayne was dead but the world wasn’t supposed to know that yet. 

“Hey Dick, no kid this weekend?” The weight grew heavier with the questions but Dick’s smile did not waiver. He simply shook his head at the doorman.

“Not today, Tom.” The man smiled

“Freedom then! Better enjoy it while it lasts.” Dick forced a chuckle out of his mouth, feeling immense relief as the elevator door opened up to him. With a wave, he said goodbye to the man before stepping in. The doors shutting close behind him with a soft thud. Dick felt his smile drop a fraction, but he kept it up, he still had to get past the hallway and into the Penthouse. 

The normally speedy elevator felt agonizingly slow as it beeped with each floor, and Dick felt his face vibrating from the strain. When it finally stopped at the top Dick stepped out of it quickly, hands already pulling out his key and eyes locked on his front door as he beelined for it. Sticking the key into the lock he twisted it and pushed at the same time, quickly letting himself in. As soon as the door shut he leaned against the frame and stared forward.

_It’s safe_ , _you're alone._

The thought was simple, but it was like a flip was immediately switched in his brain and finally he cried. A pained and ugly cry, one that came from his chest and burned. He felt himself slide to the floor, tears flowing down his face. No one was here, no one could see him, and that suited Dick just fine because everything was awful and he couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t anymore.

His sadness was bone-deep, aching and overwhelming, and with each gasping breath it seemed to grow. And in turn Dick sobbed, desperate to let it out, to soften the burden, the hurt. But there was no softening it, there was no end to this. Because everything was wrong. This was all wrong.

Because Damian was dead and Dick was alive, and how did that make sense? How could things change so quickly? Days ago his brother was breathing and now he was in the ground and it didn’t make _sense_ . _It didn’t make sense_.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

But it happened and DIck was alone, and everyone else was grieving and selfishly Dick didn’t think they had the right to. _He_ was the one who had loved Damian, had defended him, had trained him, had raised him. _He_ was the one who saw how brilliant the boy was, how kind and gentle he could be. _He_ was the one who lost the most. 

For nearly two years Timothy and Jason antagonized the boy, had said Dick was wasting his time trying to teach him. But now that Damian’s dead suddenly they care? Suddenly they decide he was a hero? 

From the moment Bruce came back from the timestream he had fought with Damian. Had only seen him as Talia’s son and not his own. He was cruel and short with the boy, he barely talked to him, barely raised him. But now he was shutting out the world because _his_ grief was too much?

_Dick_ knew Damian, he had loved him, _Dick’s_ grief was too much. _Dick_ was the one who lost too much. Again and again he kept losing and he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t keep loving, not if it meant that when he inevitably lost them it would hurt so deeply. Dick was tired of feeling everything. Maybe Bruce had the right idea… to shut it off… to be blank.

Picking himself up he lumbered over to the kitchen, his tears making everything fuzzy. Opening the cabinet under the sink he pulled out a bottle of gin, only about a quarter drunk. Barbara had brought it over one night months ago when Damian had spent the night at the Kents. Neither were big drinkers and so plenty remained. Unscrewing the cap he took a drink, nose wrinkling at the smell of pine and bitter taste. Dick didn’t drink often, it didn’t make sense to. But he needed things not to be clear. 

_This is a bad idea._

_I don’t really care_.

If he was sober then Damian was dead, and he was alone, and he kind of hated his family because they were suffering and they shouldn’t be allowed to. 

But if he was drunk things were fuzzy, and the world was warm, and he was still alone but maybe it didn’t matter.

So he kept drinking, sitting down on the kitchen floor he finally took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Popping open the top buttons on his dress shirt he pulled the tie completely off. The lump still sat in the back of his throat, now aching from the crying, but the sting of alcohol hid it for a moment. 

At first he drank because it was the only thing to do. That's what people did when they mourned right? They wallowed. Because life was unfair and Dick was fucking angry, and no one was here so he didn’t care if he fell apart. Then he drank every time his mind drifted back to Damian.

The way his face would soften when he saw an animal, his hard edges becoming gentle and careful. As though the creature was the most precious thing on Earth. The way his hands flicked and swished when drawing, controlled but also free, never hesitant or uncertain. The way his blush creeped up his ears when he was embarrassed or angry. The way he’d roll his eyes whenever Dick said he loved him. Or anytime he ‘tsked’ when Dick ruffled his hair. His glare at first had been heated, unsure of how to react to affection, but over time it became laced with pleased amusement.

Every thought was met with a drink because Dick had all these memories, all this love, and suddenly there was no where to put it. Suddenly it didn’t matter that Dick knew Damians favorite color was orange. It didn’t matter that he knew Damian preferred to read first thing in the morning because he thought his mind absorbed the information better. It didn’t matter because Damian was dead.

Damian was dead. _His_ kid was dead.

Dick felt another hitched breathe come out of his throat and he slammed his head back on the cabinet door.

“Stop thinking about it.” His voice sounded strange in the empty apartment, and the words felt odd in his mouth. “I’m drinking, I’m not supposed to think about it, that's how it works.” He felt a shiver work up his spine. “I can’t-I can’t think about it, so stop.” Damian's face flashed in his mind and with a growl he threw his head back again. Then again. Letting out a frustrated yell as he did so, hitting the ground with his fists, kicking his legs, surely looking like a toddler throwing a tantrum. But frankly he didn’t care. Because he was pissed. He was so fucking angry.

With a spurt of energy he stood up, hand still clutching the emptying bottle. He looked wildly around his apartment, his body itching. Itching for something. It was like Dick was supposed to do something, but there was nothing to do. Nothing for him to fix.

“This sucks!” He shouted, as though saying it made it better. “This fucking sucks. This isn’t fair. This isn’t what I signed up for!” He turned around screaming at the ceiling, at the universe, at God if he exists. “This isn’t what I fucking signed up for! I just need things to stop being awful, so if you could just-” Another lump settled in his throat and in frustration he dropped the bottle and grabbed his hair pulling it. “Just stop making life so hard okay! Because I-I-I can’t keep fucking do this, okay?” The admission seemed to zap the energy from him, and Dick sank back to the floor. Burying his head into his arms ignoring the alcohol pooling under him from the now broken bottle. “I can’t keep doing this.” He whispered into his arms, voice cracking slightly in desperation “I can’t, I-”  
  


“Dick?” Dick tensed at the sound of his Fathers voice, he hadn’t even heard Bruce come into his apartment. He didn’t look up from his arms and instead waited as Bruce made his way over to him, feet crunching on broken glass. “Dick I-...You’re shaking.” _Was he_? A hand landed on his back and with a flinch Dick pulled away, finally looking up.

“I’m fine.” Bruce was still in his costume and Dick couldn’t see his face under the cowl, but he could see his lips purse at his words.

“You’re not.”

“I’m - I’m fine Dammit. I’m fine.” Any of the usual grace or warmth that was usually in Dicks voice was gone, leaving him sounding tired and bitter.

“You’re not.” Dick scoffed, _of course Batman knows best_. Pulling away from his Father he stood, tilting slightly as the alcohol settled within him. He felt Bruce’s hand reach out for him but he shook it off.

“Whatever you need now's not the best time, I’m not in the mood to play vigilante so you can go.” It was a dismissal, one which Dick thought Bruce would take but the man just stood there staring at him.

“I’m not here because of Batman.” Dick raised an eyebrow and looked his Father up and down, taking in the cowl and the cape.

“Could have fooled me.” Bruce twitched at the sarcasm in Dicks voice but did not respond to it. Instead he pulled off the cowl, revealing a tired and waned face. One shining with anguish. For some reason that made Dick angrier. “I didn’t realize the mask came off.” They both knew he didn’t mean the cowl.

“Dick.” That was all he said, his name, as though simply saying it would prompt Dick to speak. As though this was another mission debrief and it was Dicks’s job to report to him.

“Why are you here Bruce, what could you possibly want from me right now?” He threw his hands up letting them flop down to his side. “Are Tim and Jason fighting? Is Stephanie crying, is Cass not talking to anyone? Whatever it is I. can’t. deal. with. it. So take responsibility for your family for once and deal with them. Because I need one night where I don’t have to be put together okay? I need one night where I don’t have to be fucking perfect.” Bruce just continued to stare at him, a look of understanding mingling in with his pain. And Dick fumed, marching up to Bruce he got into his face.

“Stop looking at me like that. Stop looking at me like you understand what I’m feeling. Just STOP IT.” The two were nose to nose but Bruce just kept looking at him. With a yell he pushed the man away. “God dammit Bruce! All of a sudden you want to be here for me? All of a sudden you care?” He pushed the man again. “You don’t just get to pick and choose when it’s convenient to be a Dad!” A push. “You don’t get to care now when for the last however many months you’ve been aloof and cold!” Another push. “Where were you when Damian needed you? Huh? where were you when it mattered!” He went to throw a punch but Bruce caught his hand and pulled him into his chest. Dick struggled against the man, but his hold was firm. “Let me go.”

“No.” With a growl Dick tried to yank away to no avail.

“Fucking let me go Bruce! Let me go or I swear to God-” The heavy lump returned in his throat, and he felt tears begin to fall once more as he continued to thrash. “Let me go...I don’t need this right now, I don’t-I don’t-”

“You don’t?” Bruce's voice was quiet, soft in a way Dick hadn’t heard for years. He felt the man's arms move from a hold into a hug, and Dick let out another stuttering breath.

“I don’t deserve to be comforted.” He whispered, his head buried in the man's chest. And that was it wasn’t it? He didn’t deserve to break down because all of this was his fault.

“-Oh Dick.” Bruce whispered the words, hands tightening around Dick. But he just shook his head.

“It’s my fault, he was my responsibility and I failed him.”

“No Dickie you didn’t.”

“I did.” He felt Bruce step back from him and a gloved hand tapped his chin, indicating he wanted Dick to look at him. Not speaking again until Dick finally matched his gaze.

“This wasn't your fault Dick... If you go down this path, thinking you deserve to hurt, thinking you deserve pain… Dick it will destroy you.” He could tell Bruce meant it, but somehow it still didn’t matter.

“I don’t care.” 

“But Damian would.” Dick looked away, shaking his head but Bruce continued. “He wouldn’t want you to punish yourself for this.”

“You don’t know that, you didn’t know _him._ ” The words were meant to hurt, but Bruce gave no reaction to them.

“No, maybe I didn’t… But you did.” Dick looked back at Bruce. “You knew him Dick, better than anyone... Would he blame you?” Dick’s first instinct was to say yes but he bit it back, knowing Bruce wouldn’t be pleased with the answer. 

The two had grown together, Dick had matured and aged in a way that he had first been opposed to but had come to appreciate. He had become more responsible, more patient. And Damian? Damian had begun to care about things. Care about life, about others, cared about how he fit in the world and not just about how useful he was. Dick had spent a lot of time convincing the boy to accept love. That love was not a striking hand or a steel blade, love was not disappointment or expectations you couldn’t meet. Love didn’t cost anything. It was given, freely and beautifully. And Dick had given it, and slowly but surely Damian had returned it. 

And now he was gone.

“I don’t know how to not _hurt_.” Dick whispered, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to live like this.” Bruce gave him a small smile and once again pulled Dick into his embrace, this time Dick didn’t resist.

“I don’t know either. But you don’t have to figure it out alone.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DickandDamiWeek 2021!

**Prompts:**

~~Comfort Food~~ \- ~~Fear of Abandonment~~ - **“Please don’t leave me”**

The Manor was suffocating. 

At every corner Damian would run into yet another family member, pity etched onto their face and smiles twisted into a sympathetic grin. It was unnerving to have everyone be so nice to him. Though true that before his death he had warmed up to Cain and Brown, and had started a fragile alliance with Todd, Drake had only ever looked at him with barely concealed disdain. And his Father had barely even looked at him.

Now everything was different and Damian wasn’t sure if it was because he was alive or because Grayson was dead.

None of them talked about it. Damian didn’t know how it had happened or by whom. He asked them all but none of his siblings wanted to tell him about it.  _ Had it truly been so awful, had whatever happened been so agonizing that they wanted to spare him from the horror of it _ ? The thought of Richard in pain, dying, alone, hurt Damian in a way he hadn’t expected. Hurt in a way that Damian could articulate. Because it just didn’t make sense to him. It didn’t make sense that he was resurrected and the one person he wanted to see, the one person who would want to see  _ him _ , was buried in the very ground he had recently vacated.

It had been a cruel joke, a sick and twisted trick played on him by the universe.

Because he knew,  _ he knew,  _ that had he been alive when it had happened Richard wouldn’t have died. It didn’t matter that his Father was back, it didn’t matter that Grayson hadn’t been Batman for months. Damian was his partner, Damian could have saved him. Or at the very least he could have been there with him.

For the first time in a very long time Damian felt utterly and completely alone. Because despite his siblings ‘friendly dispositions’ he had a suspicion they were only kind to him because Richard would have wanted that, and not because they actually liked him. 

And his Father was shut off, isolated from everyone.

A few days after his resurrection Pennyworth had told Damian in a quiet and sad voice that his Father had been there when Richard died. Had brought the body back to the cave. And Damian supposed that it explained his Fathers actions but didn’t justify them.

When they had all thought his Father was dead Richard hadn’t turned away from the family. He hadn’t been selfish in his grief, he had been  _ there _ for them. It felt like a disservice to Richards memory for his Father to cut himself off from the family. 

_ ‘He should have died. Father should have died, and Richard should have lived’.  _ Everytime he had the thought he waited for guilt to come but it never did. 

The Manor was suffocating. The air was heavy with unspoken grief and the false niceties only made it worse. And Damian wasn’t going to force himself to stay within the walls any longer.

Outside, the spring air was light and warm and brought with it the promise of a hot summer. The ground was wet, his feet sinking into the mud with each footfall and coming up with a soft squelching noise. And the sky was breathtakingly blue with only the occasional swirling white cloud drifting into view. The day was a rarity for Gotham in Spring. Last March when Grayson had dragged him out to the zoo the air was stale and moist. And though the temperature was supposed to be in the late 50’s the wind made it feel colder. Damian had hated it, hated the biting cold and constant dew, he had wrapped his windbreaker tightly across his chest, arms crossed in an attempt to keep warm. 

Richard had loved it though.

The man had run around, pulling Damian to each new exhibit with an exuberance Damian resented. His own jacket was unbuttoned and a baseball cape kept most of the dew out of his face. He stopped to read every post outside an animals habitat, spoke out loud so that Damian could hear even though he could clearly read the sign himself. He had bought Damian a small stuffed panther plusie. Attempting to push the toy into his unwilling hands with a grin.

“I have Zikita, and we can’t both have elephants because that wouldn’t be unique. Besides you seem more like a cat person to me.”

“I don’t see why I need a toy at all, I am much too old for such a frivolous purchase.”

“You’re too young to be so grumpy Dami.”

“I am not grumpy, just because I don’t act like a child-”

“Exactly! You’re a kid, kid. Play a little!”

“I think you play enough for the both of us. I do not need a toy Grayson.”

“Fine, think of it as a… memento.”

“A memento?”

“You know, something to remember today by.”

“Why would I possibly want to remember today?” At this Dick gave an exasperated sigh though his joy did not wane.

“We’re alive. No one is trying to kill us, there is no one we have to save. We’re together. Plenty of reasons to want to celebrate today.” Damian wasn’t convinced and so, toy in hand, Dick kneeled in front of him. His face shifting into something more serious. “We’ve got to live for the little things Dami, we got to enjoy things while we can otherwise what's the point? What we do is admirable, it’s a gift, but we can’t only live to serve others.’ He shrugged, passing the toy into Damian’s hands. ‘We have to find what brings us joy otherwise we won’t have any reason to go on. Duty and honour can only take us so far kid. But love, happiness? It can take us a lot further.” Damian turned the stuffed animal in his hand, thinking over the man’s words.

“And a stuffed animal will bring me joy?” Dick grinned at his scepticism and ruffled his hair, stepping out of the way as Damian went to hit him.

“Why not?” Damian did not have an answer for that and so he accepted the plushie, if not ruefully. 

Damian hadn’t seen it since his death, no doubt it remained where he left it. Sitting dutifully on his nightstand in the Penthouse. And though he never admitted it to Grayson whenever he looked at the plushie he remembered that day at the zoo, not with fondness but with some degree of peace… Of happiness.

Damian continued to stroll across the Manor grounds, his feet leading him down the well worn path to the family cemetery. A place he had only visited once or twice before. Richard would have loved today. The man would have pulled Damian out of the house to play soccer or take a hike. Anything to celebrate the end of winter and beginning of spring. It had been his favorite season after all. He had told Damian once that winter was the season of Gotham, cold and harsh and unforgiving. But spring was the season of the Robins. With it came hope and rebirth. Ironic as Damian himself had been reborn not so long ago.

Damian continued walking, passing the older gravestones, the ones belonging to ancestors he never knew. Until finally he came to a small granite stone, the words on it crisp and clear, not yet eroded by age or the weather. A small patch of dandelions were growing at the base and Damian went to pull them out before Richards' voice floated through his mind.

_‘My Mom used to say that Dandelions were_ ** _made_** **_of_** _memories but were_ ** _made for_** _wishes. She used to say that it was nature's way of telling us to not just appreciate what came before us but to also look forward to what may lie ahead.’_

Damian didn’t care for what lay ahead, Damian only cared for what laid below.

Six feet below his Dad was buried, in the cold dirt so far away from any thought of spring and hope and rebirth. Damian didn’t remember death, didn’t remember what he experienced, if he experienced anything. But if by some miracle he and Richard had been together then Damian almost longed to go back. Because surely  _ that  _ had been better than  _ this _ . Why had he been allowed to come back and why had he been given a second chance? What made him  _ worthy _ ? A thought that he had tried desperately to suppress popped into his mind. 

_ If he had returned surely Richard could do the same?  _

Hope was a dangerous thing as more often than not it ended in disappointment, but Damian couldn’t help it. He had come back, Todd had come back, even his Father had returned to the land of the living. What stopped Richard from doing so? Dick had been the best of them all, he was the kindest, he had the most love. So why shouldn’t he be able to come back and take Damian into his arms, and tell him everything was going to be alright? That's what Damian wanted.

Damian wanted a Dad who cared about him and showed him love freely and without restraint. He wanted Richard to come back and tell a stupid joke, or wear a ugly shirt, and he wanted to roll his eyes at the mans antics while secretly being amused. Because no one in his life had been as light and happy as Richard. No one had taught Damian he was allowed to enjoy things. No one had taught him he was allowed to  _ live _ , freely and without paying a price. No one but Richard had shown him that he was  _ enough _ , Damian was enough. Even if he wasn’t Robin, even if he wasn’t useful. Richard had showed Damian that he was worth loving. And Damian, like a fool, believed him. Because Richard Grayson was many things, but a liar was not one of them.

So many cruel and awful people came back into this life, why couldn’t Dick come back to?

Damian kneeled to the grave, avoiding the dandelions that blew softly with the breeze. Reaching out a hand he lay his palm on the cool stone.

“Please come back Richard. If I did it then you can too. You’ve had your rest but now it is time to come back. So come back.” He paused as though waiting for a response, as though the ground beneath him would open up and Grayson would pop out. Grinning madly and sweeping Damian into a tight hug. But that did not come. Damian felt his throat constrict and blinking madly he tried to dissipate tears that were beginning to gather at the corner of his eyes. “Come back… Please. I’ll do better. I’ll laugh at your stupid jokes and I’ll collect stupid plushies...and I’ll wear the ridclous matching sweaters you like and I’ll-I-I-” His words cut of with a choked noise. “Whatever you want, I’ll do whatever you want just please don’t… please don’t leave me.”

“Damian?” Damian spun around at the voice, losing his balance he fell to his butt with a thump. Stephanie was watching him from a few feet away. Her blonde hair tied up in a messy ponytail, the few free tendrils flowing softly around her face. Damian felt his ears burn in embarrassment and quickly he rubbed at his face, trying to hide his glassy eyes and flush.

“Go away Fatgirl.” The words didn’t come out as sharply as he intended and Stephanie only rolled her eyes in response.

“Yeah not going to happen little bro.” Moving towards him she took a seat on the ground, her gaze flickering to the headstone for a moment before returning back to him. Damian expected to see pity, expected to see condescending sympathy directed towards him. But Stephanie just looked sad, as though she didn’t have the effort to pretend everything was fine. “You okay?” The question was soft and it left Damian feeling unbalanced. 

Next to Grayson he probably had the best relationship with Brown. But it was an antagonizing relationship. One built on insults without any heat. Stephanie would give him a noogie anytime she walked by and in retaliation Damian would kick her into the shine. Grayson had told Damian that was how siblings acted sometimes, and maybe he had a point because Damian genuinely enjoyed the blonde's company, though he’d never admitted it. All that to say, the two never got emotional, never had ‘heart to hearts’. So Damian shrugged at her question, trying to dismiss her concern. 

“I am fine, you do not have to worry about me.”

“That’s where you wrong squirt, contractually I  _ have _ to worry about you.” Damian raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Contractually?” Stephanie nodded.

“I’m not adopted so me and Dick wrote up a contract. It lists all my sibling duties and responsibilities-”

“Duties and responsibilities are the same thing.” Stephanie bopped him on the nose.

“Shut it your elder is speaking.” Damian glared at her but did not speak again. “Anyway we wrote out a contract. And in section IV listed under clause 3A, there in bold was written  **‘Worry about Damian’** . And who am I to break a contract?” Damian rolled his eyes.

“You did not sign a contract agreeing to care for me Brown,” Stephanie shrugged.

“Arlight technically it was a verbal agreement, but it still stands in a court of law.” Despite himself Damian snorted, and a pleased look crossed Stephanie's face. Almost immediately Damian felt guilty, as though he wasn’t allowed to be amused so close to his Richards grave. Shuffling away from the girl he crossed his arms and laid his head on them. Eyes fixed on the granite stone.

“Regardless of what you promised Grayson he is no longer here, so your ‘verbal agreement’ is void Brown. You can go.” He expected the girl to leave then, to brush off her hands and head back into the Manor and tell the others she had given it a shot. She however stayed. Reaching over she softly plucked a dandelion and after looking at it for a moment she blew on it. Causing the seeds to blow off and be carried away in the breeze.

“You know he would have wanted it this way.” 

“To be dead?” 

“No… For you to be alive.” Damian turned away from her, he didn’t want to think about what Grayson would have wanted. But Stephanie continued. “When you died Damian it… it broke him. He tried to hide it but we could all see. Something changed, it was like a switch flipped and his joy was just… gone. He went through the cues, he laughed when he was supposed to, smiled when he should. But it was all hollow… an imitation.” Damian tried to imagine it. Tried to imagine a world where Dick Grayson didn’t exude hope and happiness. He couldn’t. And the thought that he had somehow been the cause of such a fundamental change in the man hurt.

“Why are you telling me this?” His voice was quiet and gently he felt Stephanie's hand graze through his hair, and for once he didn’t shake her off.

“Because I’d like to believe that wherever he is he knows you’re alive. I’d like to believe he’s happy or at peace-”   
  
“He should be here.” Damian interrupted. “He should be happy but he should be happy  _ here _ .” Stephanie let out a sigh, not of agitation, just of sorrow.

“Yeah, yeah he should be… But he’s not.”

“But he could be. I’ve come back, he could as well. The pit-”   
  


“Bruce would never allow it Damian, not after Jason.” She was right, Damian knew she was right and it sucked. “Hope isn’t a bad thing Damian, but resurrection is nothing short of a miracle and our family has already had our fair share of miracles. You have to live as though he’s not going to come back, because if you don’t you’ll waste away.”

“I don’t want to.” He confessed, sounding more like a child then he ever had. “I don’t want to act like this is permanent, I don’t want to believe that Grayson will never come back I don’t-” He started choking up again and quickly he felt Stephanie pull him into her arms, shushing him softly. Her hugs felt different than Grayson’s, she was smaller than the man’s but her hold was just as firm. And Damian could feel the love within it.

“I know kiddo. I know. This sucks okay? This sucks and you're allowed to be upset that this sucks... So be upset. It’s okay.” Damian hadn’t realized he had been waiting on permission to grieve. Hadn’t realized he had needed someone to hold him and let him be a child. But once Stephanie said the words he felt his resolve break and tears quietly began flowing down his face. Burying his head into her shoulder he felt her arms tighten.

“I hate this. I hate this so much.” He couldn’t see Stephanie's face but if he could he would have seen a few tears escape from her eyes as she rocked with him. Her head pointed to the sky as though wondering how on Earth they were supposed to get through this.

“Me to. I hate this too.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Prompts:**

Dami calls Dick "Baba" - ~~First "I love you"~~ \- "You're not my Father!" - ~~"I am well aware"~~

Dick didn’t like surprises.

Contrary to popular belief he hated them. He hated feeling unprepared, he hated not knowing what he was walking into, hated the uncertainty. Even surprise parties weren’t his thing. Spending the whole day thinking your loved ones forgot your birthday? Thinking you didn’t matter to anyone. Only to open your apartment door and discover you’d been lied to all day? It was not for him.

But here he was, sitting on top of Wayne Industries waiting for his family to come his way. He hadn’t told any of them he was back in Gotham, hadn’t told any of them he was _alive_. He had been just cryptic enough in his message to Oracle to pique her interest and direct the family his way, without giving away that it was him. Because selfishly he was afraid that if his family knew he was home they wouldn’t visit him. 

Even if they screamed at him when they arrived it would be worth it because at least he would get to see them.

It had been months since his death and resurrection, months since Bruce had forced him to go undercover with Spyral. Months since he had been back in America let alone Gotham. And he _missed_ them. He hadn’t wanted to leave, had fought viciously with Bruce over it, but the man wouldn’t take no for an answer. Dick hated that he had caused his family grief because he hadn’t been able to stand up to his Father. Especially so soon after losing Dami-

\- _Don’t think about it_ \- 

The familiar pang of sadness pierced his heart at the thought of the boy, but he pushed it away. Instead focusing on the family he had left.

Cass and Stephanie would forgive him for lying, of that he had no doubt, both girls would rightfully call him out on it but neither held a grudge. Timmy was up in the air, they hadn’t had a great relationship before he died, and while grief seemed to soften anger Dick wasn’t sure Tim’s fury wouldn’t return. Jason would be the one most likely to blow up. His temper was a live wire and he was always quick to call Dick out on his faults. And Bruce….

Dick wasn’t sure he wanted to see Bruce. Wasn’t sure he could stand to look at the man after the last encounter they had. Dick sprawled out on the cave floor broken and hurting, Bruce standing in front of him like a God, only concerned with the mission. Dick knew his death had scared Bruce, he knew that when Bruce felt things were out of control his reaction was to shut down. _He knew that_. But it didn’t make the betrayal hurt any less.

He wondered how Damian would’ve reacted- _Don’t think about it_.

Feeling antsy he stood and moved away from the ledge, heading towards the large luminos ‘W’ that lit the buildings roof. He had only just reached it when the sound of several soft thumps came from behind him, announcing his family's arrival. He felt himself tense and held still, reluctant to turn around. 

They didn’t say anything either which was unusual. Dick knew he didn’t look like himself. He was still in his Spryal uniform, now slightly distressed and covered in blood. He had been in such a hurry to come home he hadn’t thought to change. His gun still sat on his hip, and he was sure they had clocked it. Spyral had forced him to cut his hair, and though it was slightly longer then the initial buzzcut he had gotten he knew it was still shorter then he usually wore it. They couldn’t see his face but once they did they would see a long thin scar cutting through his right eyebrow and stopping at the corner of his eye. He knew he looked like a threat and still they said nothing.

Finally with a deep breath he turned and took them in.

Immediately he felt overwhelming relief at the sight of them all. _I’ve missed you all so much_ . Though he loved the Manor Dick knew that his homesickness, his longing, hadn’t been for the estate it had been for _them._ Lined up, dressed in their costumes, standing a few feet away as though not to crowd him. Bruce was absent, for which Dick was grateful, but all his siblings where there. _Well not all of them_. He shook his head at the thought and instead quickly looked over all his siblings. Desperate to take stock and make sure they were all in one piece.

Timothy’s hair was longer, when had he started wearing it in a bun?

Stephanie’s costume was darker, less mauve and more eggplant. It looked nice.

Cass wasn’t wearing her hood, instead she had on a domino mask. That was strange.

And Jason was standing forward slightly, as though ready to protect them in case Dick had been a threat.

_How much have I missed?_

When he was done taking in their appearance he searched their faces, looking for any sign of shock or anger. Instead what he found was love and patience. As though they were waiting for him to get his bearings before speaking, as though they weren’t surprised to find him alive. That wasn’t what he was expecting. Dick went to step forward before stopping himself, unsure of how to precede. _When did this get so hard?_ Finally he spoke.

“Hi.” His voice was soft and unsure but it carried across the roof and seemed to act as a catalyst because as soon as it reached his siblings they were on him. He tensed his body, expecting to be punched only relaxing when he was instead pulled into a group hug.

“You come back from the dead and all you can say to us is hi?” Stephanie laughed from his side, shaking her head. Lifting up his arm he wrapped it around her and wrapped the other around TIm who was at his other side. Dick attempted to shrug in response, he tried to think of another thing to say but all that came out was,

“How are you?” Stephanie snorted and Jason reached around her to flick him in the ear.

“You’re an idiot.” The words were said fondly. Gently Jason pushed Tim out of the way and took Dick into a bear hug. “I’m glad your back Dickie.” 

Dick was confused. Why weren’t they mad at him? He let them believe he was dead for months, why weren’t they screaming and yelling profanities? Pulling back from Jason's hold he looked around, trying to catch up to what was going on. Cass, as always, seemed to understand him and she gave him a soft smile.

“We found out what Batman had done a couple weeks ago. We weren’t sure how to find you but we were trying.” Cass’s voice was gentle but her tone hardened at Bruce’s name, as though she was angry at the man. “It was not your fault….You leaving. We are not mad at you.” Dick shook his head.

“But I - I agreed to it… I lied to you, I-”

“You didn’t have much of a choice in the matter Dick.” Tim spoke up from beside Cass, his own face hardened in anger. “There was security footage of the cave the night he… when he made you leave. Frankly we’re just happy you’re alive.” Love heated Dicks heart at the words and he pulled his little brother back into a tight hug.

“I’m happy I’m alive too Timmy.” He felt Tim bury his head into his shoulder and looked over the top of his head to see Jason speaking into his comm, a serious look on his face. When he caught Dicks eye he spoke up.

“I know you probably don’t want to see B but he’s bringing the kid. None of us have broken to him that you're alive yet. We didn’t want… In case you didn't come back we didn’t want him to have to lose you again.” Dick frowned, the words not making sense in his brain.

“What kid?” A surprised look crossed over Jason’s face before it was replaced with anger. But before he could answer a louder set of feet falling caught Dick’s attention. He felt Tim extract himself from his arms and step back. With a sigh Dick squared his shoulders, turning to face Batman. Bruce looked exactly the same and Dick took a step towards him, stopping only when another smaller person landed besides the Bat. The sight caused Dick to freeze.

It was like his brain malfunctioned. It was like his mind was a rolodex and was flipping through every possible emotion that could exist. Confusion, hope, love, relief, surprise, grief, happyness. But it never landed on one for long because he simply could not comprehend what he was seeing.

Because Damian was standing there, staring at him with the same dumbstruck look he was sure was on his own face. And that wasn’t possible because Damian was dead. Right?

The boy recovered first and with a cry he threw himself into Dicks arms. And on instinct Dick picked him up and brought him closer. Burying his head into the top of Damian’s hair he breathed in deeply. And suddenly it was like Dick was home. 

The feeling of Damian in his arms brought with it thousands of memories. Memories of quiet nights spent catching up on classic movies and playing card games. Memories of Dick cooking at the stove in the Penthouse attempting to make anything edible, and Damian sitting at the counter watching him. Interjecting every once in a while with a suggestion or a criticism. Memories of Damian and him fighting, the boy screaming at him in anger and slamming his bedroom door shut. And Dick burying his head into his hands, wondering how on Earth he was supposed to raise this kid?

And suddenly it was like the world was righted, because his son was _alive_ and in his arms. 

“Damian.” He whispered, as though if he spoke too loud the illusion would break and Damian would disappear. Damian’s own grip tightened at the sound of his name, and Dick could feel his tears soaking into his shirt. 

“ _Baba_ .” Damian’s voice was quieter than he ever heard but it _was_ Damians voice. And with a hitched breath Dick fell to his knees, finally realizing that this was real. This was actually happening. He wasn’t going to wake up to find that Damian was still dead because _Damian was in his arms_. Damian was alive, Damian was here with Dick.

_Damina. Damian. Damian. Damian. Damian._

The boy's name rung through his mind, as though it was trying to process the pure love he felt for the boy. He kept holding on to him, his brain only just now catching up to the fact that Damian had been constantly whispering the word ‘Baba’ into his chest. It felt right. Dick had always known Damian was more than just a ‘brother’ had always known the boy sat somewhere deeper in his heart. He loved his family, he loved his siblings, he would do anything for them. But Damian was _his son_. Damian was his soul. Damian was his love. And when he was killed it had left a hole so wide and deep that Dick was certain he had died with him.

Because how was a parent supposed to exist in a world without their child? How could he be expected to live without this beautiful boy in his life?

And for a moment Dick wondered how exactly he had lived through these last few months. He wondered how the pain of lost hadn't killed him, he wondered how he had gotten up every single day and had lived without him. Because now that Damian was back in his arms the weight of what he lost was even more prevalent. He had lost himself. He had lost his hope, his belief that things would always work out in the end. For the last few months he no longer dreamed. He no longer strived for a better world because the world was cruel and awful and it would always be that way. How could he live without ever hearing Dami laugh again? How could he grow old knowing Damian would not? All of those thoughts, all of that desperation was suddenly silenced. Because Damian was home, and Dick didn't know how or why and frankly he didn't care. Because _Damian was home._

Pulling himself back he took Damian’s face into his hands and gently he pulled off his mask. Rubbing his thumb under the boy's dark green eyes to whip away the tears. _Damian was crying_. He should be worried but he wasn’t. Because he saw so clearly the truth on the boy's face. He saw sorrow, and grief, and love, and hope. He saw trust. He saw safety.

“I love you so much Dami.” The words were said with a heaviness and a seriousness rare from Dick. As though these were the most important words he would ever say. “I love you so much, and I swear to God I’m not going to leave you again.” Usually the display of affection would cause the boy to blush, to roll his eyes or glare. Anything to avoid dealing with sincerity. Instead he just tucked his head back into Dick’s chest, for once acting like the child he was.

“You are not allowed to die again Baba. If you do I’ll bring you back and kill you myself.” Dick let out a watery laugh and picked the boy up, standing to look at the rest of his family. Everyone was looking away, allowing the two a moment of privacy. 

Everyone but Bruce. 

The sight of the man caused rage to build up within him. _He didn’t tell me Damian was alive, he sent me away on a mission, and didn’t tell me that my son was alive_. The rage quelled however when Dick could see regret shining in his eyes as he watched the two of them. Dick wasn’t sure if it was regret for how he had treated Dick or regret for how he treated Damian, but either way it didn’t matter. Setting Damian down he began to walk away from the boy, his heart clenching when Damian quickly grabbed his hand and moved with him.

When they reached Bruce Dick just stood there for a moment and waited. Waited for an apology, an explanation, a _reason_. Time and time again Bruce would drive Dick away only for Dick to come crawling back when the man showed him a crumb of affection. Bruce wasn’t a bad man, Dick knew that Bruce had the capacity to care for them. But it wasn’t enough for Bruce to be capable of love, he had to show it. So Dick waited for the man to say anything, and when he didn’t Dick shook his head in disappointment. 

“You’re not my Father, you’re not _his_ Father. Not anymore.” _Not after you beat me into submission after I came back to life, only to send me on a sucide mission. Not after you kept this from me_. Bruce didn’t say anything to that, didn’t argue, didn’t plead. He just stood there, mask slowly slipping on, leaving just a cold shell of a man.

Turning away from him, Dick nodded for his siblings to follow. Damian remained glued at his side, his voice still unusually quiet.

“We are going home?” _Home._ The word sounded right, sounded like spring after a long winter. Sounded like warmth and happiness, and the promise that things would work out. The promise that after the darkest night came the dawn.

“Yeah kiddo, we’re going home.”


End file.
